Oh Moby, what have you done?

Moby, I remembered when you were an innovative artist. I remember when your music actually made me feel something, when it didn't seem like fodder for some impressionist television commercial flogging luxury cars, when it actually sounded like something I'd want to pop in my stereo and listen to. I remember albums like "Everything Is Wrong", which I still listen to years later, and which still manage to pull their weight, and don't sound dated and obsolete.

Moby, your slide was extended and painful though. Watching you release albums like "Play" was like a pop music version of seeing a loved one lose their mind to Alzheimer's. I'm not sure exactly where you went wrong, but suddenly the music had no spark anymore, no cutting edge that cut into your brain and couldn't be dislodged. The music was still the same, which maybe was the whole problem, you simply hadn't moved ahead.

"Hotel" is the latest in a long line of disappointments from you, Moby. Despite the plethora of crap albums over the past few years, I still retained some of my faith that you'd manage to come good. I even defended you when that hack Eminem decided to attack you, and not just because I thought that attacking an avowed pacifist was a pretty cheap shot. But after this latest fetid abortion of an album, I feel I can defend you no longer.

I must admit, starting out with that little ambient section was a good move. In fact, it's probably the best music that you've made for years. It got my hopes up that perhaps you'd finally come good. Unfortunately, this good little section made the crash when I heard the rest of the album even worse, since it got my hopes up. Every song here is ambient, but not in a good way, they're all as bland as a tofu burger and more forgettable than a Nickleback song.

I could even forgive you for releasing another album of boring dreck, if it weren't for that cover of Temptation. The only possible reason that I can possibly think of for possibly inflicting this monstrosity on the public is having a coked-up Courtney Love in the studio waving a gun in your general direction, but even that I don't think is sufficient justification. You should have stuck to your principles, Moby, and taken the bullet. Not only have you permanently ruined your own music, you've also made it so that I'll never be able to listen to that particular New Order song again, either.

Luckily, it never gets any worse than that, even on the truly dreadful I like it, which is about as sexy and arousing as having to walk through the rapists' wing of a maximum security prison, during a jailbreak, wearing a cheerleader outfit. About the only saving grace towards the end of the album is the ending bookend, which is ambient in the same way as the opening track, not to mention the fact that it signals an end to the aural horror you've produced here.

I can't think of a single reason why I would recommend this album to anybody, Moby. The whole thing seems to deliberately inoffensive and mild, that even my elderly neighbours would want something with a little more edge to it. Given your past successes, I was inclined to give you a little latitude, but after this, I'm having a hard time being optimistic that your next release will be anything more than the same, disposable crap.

Oh Moby, what have you done?